


Spanning Time

by OrangeBlossoms



Series: Strength and Dignity: Maribelle/Olivia + Family series [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sumia/F!Robin (mentioned), small mentions of alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeBlossoms/pseuds/OrangeBlossoms
Summary: There's a celebration in Ylisstol. Brady reflects on what was, what is and what might be.





	Spanning Time

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Forging Bonds event in FEH. Probably good to read alongside [Reunion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104213/chapters/42797663) for a little more context on this particular family and some Brady & Olivia interaction though I wouldn’t say it’s required.

On the way to Ylisstol he doesn’t shed a tear. Not when he sees the western towers still in one piece nor when he witnesses the great hall full of life several weeks later, the tables seated from end-to-end with friends and family. He doesn’t even sniffle when they move to a separate hall for dancing and mother breaks rank from a group of performers to extend her hand to Ma. Ma makes a gallant show of her acceptance, raising mother’s hand to her lips for all to witness. It’d be embarrassing how sappy they can act if he weren’t painfully aware of alternatives. 

Together they set an example for other pairs who rouse themselves from their seats to take part in the evening’s dances. A group of musicians accompany the merriment with humming strings that have him wondering if he should find a way to join them next time. After all, this act of the festivities isn’t for him. 

He stalks over to a column on the far corner of the room to watch, arms crossed as he leans against the sturdy support. A smile tugs at his lips despite himself. Maybe it’s the music, but a wave of nostalgia hits. Even stranger is that it’s for a time he never had the chance to experience himself. He’s encountered similar fancies ever since Ma found him in that shrine, desperately trying to save people they had all probably long since failed back home. The contemplative peace doesn’t last as another guest strolls over to his side, Inigo nudging his shoulder with a sly grin. 

“You should borrow a page from mom’s book,” he advises, tilting his head in the direction of a different set of time travelers all grouped together, talking with the ease of long-time companions. Brady jerks his gaze away before any of them can notice. 

“Aw shaddup. Ya know I ain’t good at any of that fancy footwork.” 

He runs a finger under his collar. 

_Too damn tight._

“Quite frankly, I don’t think anyone would be sober enough to notice!” Inigo says, voice unnecessarily loud. It doesn’t seem to draw anyone else’s attention, which does lend some credence to his claim. 

Upon closer inspection, his brother’s cheeks are visibly flushed even in the dim light. It’s all the more noticeable in Inigo who takes after Ma more than either of them seem to realize. Unlike Brady whose dress clothes are already wrinkled from slouching, Inigo looks like quite the dandy. He and Ma had hit the town for an afternoon of fittings in what was quite likely their very first peaceable outing in recent memory for either timeline. 

Their small impromptu household had all endured several months of tension on the road as the final conflicts drew to a close, Ma and Inigo at each other’s throats more often than not. Even Brady had entered the fray when one bitter clash had ended with Ma in tears over dinner in what was regrettably a standing room only evening in the mess tent, everyone eager to eat after a hard fought battle against converging hordes of Risen. She had retreated to her own shelter for the night, mother torn over who to pursue until Brady had offered to have a word with his brother. That all feels like a lifetime ago when he watches his parents match each other’s steps, more than a few heads turning to admire their partnership. 

“Just go on without me. I’m sure the dance floor is callin’.” 

Brady’s arms are crossed and he waves a hand dismissively.

“Too true, but I suggest you take a chance. The night is young and so are we!” he exclaims. Like a marionette on strings he casts an arm wide in a stilted motion, welcoming whatever might come. As if in answer, the music swells and fills the room, reaching even their far corner. Inigo’s foot taps along with the rhythm, the melodies singing out to Brady as well, but in a different way.

“Hmph. Not really my scene, yeah?”

Inigo’s brows knit as he shakes his head. 

“Suit yourself, but if you sit on the sidelines forever someone else might step in, dear brother,” he warns, clapping him on the back.

Brady grunts, straightening somewhat as he shoots his brother a withering look.

“Well, it’s not really any of your beeswax to be honest—“

Inigo holds up a hand.

“Peace. Forgive me for being overly sentimental, but I think for once in my life I’m beginning to understand what it truly means to think of others.” Inigo’s eyes widen as he laughs, a hand rising to rub the back of his neck. The sincerity is refreshing and Brady thinks he gets it. There’s a kind of wary optimism that’s followed them all in this other Ylisse. He’s slowly started to accept it and that has been even more true since that final battle to save the world from certain destruction and maybe, hopefully usher in an era of peace. “Or perhaps it’s the wine. I’ll leave you be, but I believe the lady you’ve set your sights on wouldn’t mind your lackluster ‘footwork’—after all, she dances to the beat of her own drum herself.”

“Hey, now wait a second, _pal_ ,” he starts, but Inigo cuts him off once again.

“I mean it in the most _complimentary_ way possible,” he says, both hands up in surrender before he steeples his fingers and bows slightly, further highlighting their difference in stature. “I promise. Besides, I think you’d make a fitting match and have I ever had experiences with ill-fitting ones!”

If anything, that statement seems to discredit Inigo’s qualifications to hand out any sort of relationship advice whatsoever.

“Well, that’s all _your_ fault. Ya won’t get any sympathy from me.” 

Inigo’s lip pouts, but he manages a contrite expression, nodding along with Brady’s assertion until they both pause to clap at the end of a song. Someone closer to the dance floor whistles their appreciation in a way more fit for a barn than castle halls, but everybody’s been saying Ylisstol is changing. From what he can tell, it’s not a bad thing. Over the past few weeks of their castle stay, Ma’s gotten up in arms over petty nastiness directed at mother, certain it’s from old enemies attempting to lure her into discourteous retaliation.

 _I had almost forgotten what it was like to be in court again where far too_ many _have excess idle time and far too_ little _sense._

She had smiled as she said it, but the words had contained more daggers than honey. 

At his side, Inigo sighs wistfully.

“I only wish for everyone’s happiness tonight and if lurking in the periphery is what brings you the most joy, I shall support you! No wandering eyes or prattling mouth from me. Just genteel conversation and well, mom did say she wanted a dance. I’ve been practicing, you know!” 

“Heh, maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come off malicious. Not really. Not after everything else that has happened. Inigo smiles, looking chagrined.

“Now you’re sounding like-“

“Like Ma, yeah, I got it. She was right though. This one, at least. Can’t expect to go around like you did and not ruffle any feathers,” he says before clearing his throat in a gravelly rumble, “I still don’t really understand everything that happened before. With the uh actual ones.”

Inigo shrugs, the grin faltering.

“They did their best with the time that they had. I’m making peace with it. And it’s not as though I was much help to them—to her.” 

They don’t speak for a stretch, content to observe the movement in the hall even as their minds wander to darker things. Other guests drift past and they both offer a half-hearted wave to Lucina and Noire. Lucina answers the gesture with a serious nod. Noire follows suit, but Brady’s certain he glimpses a smile as she speaks with her companion before the two fade into the crowd again. 

The young princess Lucina was sent to bed hours ago. Not for the first time Brady wonders if he will one day meet his other self or if Lucina is a special case. As the musicians’ song draws to a close, Inigo turns his head towards the dancers, his worried expression swept away as a familiar voice calls his name.

“Inigo! I haven’t had the chance to see you dance!” mother exclaims, taking Inigo’s hands in her own before jumping in place, belatedly noticing Brady’s presence. “Oh! B-Brady! What are you two doing hiding all the way back here?”

She’s dressed in pink and white silk with gold accessories that reflect the light when she moves in time with the music. The ensemble is designed to match Ma’s darker rose, but it’s a compromise as she still more closely resembles her fellow performers. Together the two of them show up even some of the nobles who Ma claims live for the style of celebrations that have occurred since their arrival in the capital (many of them are also the kind of nobles who were more than happy to sit out the actual conflicts themselves). Before he can come up with a fitting explanation, Inigo jumps in, suddenly chipper.

“Just catching up! But shall we?” he says, offering his arm. As they depart, he turns to Brady one last time. “Don’t forget about what I said!”

Inigo punctuates his remark with a wink and Brady’s expression sours at the sight.

“As long as ya never do _that_ again!” he shouts, Inigo tossing his head back in laughter as mother glances between them, bemused.

Inigo says something to mother, but it’s lost to the cheerful clamor of the crowds, the music resuming to reverberant applause that ascends upwards into the rafters. If he stands tall enough he can see them both and it doesn’t escape his attention how Inigo scrubs at his eye when the first song ends. 

“Enjoying yourself, darling?” 

It’s his turn to startle. He adjusts his stance to better see her face, bending in a way that once would have garnered criticism. 

“Geez, Ma, where’d you even come from?” 

“It’s hardly my fault if you were lost in thought,” she begins, but before he can wonder if he’s set her off, she smiles primly and pats his arm. “Never mind that. I’m so very proud of Olivia. She was all out of sorts over this performance just the other night, but she moved beautifully.” She sighs affectionately before pausing, seemingly remembering herself. In the blink of an eye her smile shifts from dreamy to self satisfied. “The best revenge is success and happiness after all.”

He doesn’t have to ask what she means after having recently witnessed a tirade against the haut monde’s hypocrisy and only nods his agreement. Ma latches onto perceived wrongs like a dog to a bone. It will carry her far in her professional aspirations and he has half a mind to tell her as much some day. The other side of this tenacity, however, is that she doesn’t always know when to let go. Tonight it seems he doesn’t have to worry as her focus drifts back to mother.

“Perhaps I have been overly cautious, but some time after we return to Themis, I plan to ask for her hand. I’ve hinted as much, but would rather she have a chance to grow accustomed to life there before feeling as though she has to make that commitment.”

She doesn’t meet his gaze, but the conversation has clearly turned to him. Sometimes he doesn’t understand her. How delicately she can proceed when it comes to those who love her best. As if a gentle breeze is enough to push them all away, so she steels herself for stormy weather. Despite all the lost time they’ve made up for, candidness isn’t always advisable with Ma. He bites back a few choice comments over commitment when they’re practically married already and considers his words. The festive atmosphere decides for him as he settles on something encouraging.

“That’ll be real nice, Ma.”

She releases a breath she’s been holding and he realizes he might be the first person she’s told. Every once in awhile it hits him how good it is to see her again. Even if it’s not really _her_. Even if it doesn’t change what happened. 

“I believe so as well,” she says and smiles weakly. “But I suppose I should go find Olivia. Oh, and darling?”

“Yes, Ma?” 

“I know Olivia would love to see you dance as well, but if you aren’t feeling up to it, would you please inform her that I’m looking for her?”

Taking lessons on the outskirts of camp when half of everybody is asleep and no one can see is one thing, but making a fool of himself next to mother in front of everyone is a different prospect entirely. 

“Thanks, Ma.”

He’s grateful she doesn’t take the opportunity to chide him over his wallflower tendencies and thinks she might have something of that in herself even if she’s more adept at concealing it. She’s not like Lissa who rotates conversation partners as often as Inigo used to approach women he fancied. Instead, she makes polite small talk with mere acquaintances and strangers when she must, but otherwise prefers to stick with those already close to her. 

She bookends the encounter with another gentle pat on his arm before taking her leave. As he watches her disappear into the crowd, a walking shard of sunlight arrives to envelop her and pull her back into the dancing. Lissa’s hand tugs his mother’s wrist as she spirits them off to the center of activity. 

Deciding he’d rather scram than disappoint mother, he trails the perimeter of the room before anyone else can locate his hideout and makes for the exit, content in what he’s observed. There are tables for those more inclined to drinking than dancing and he gives them a wide berth. It’s not enough to avoid catching one attendee’s eye as a booming voice stops him in his tracks.

“Brady, my boy!” Basilio roars, surely alerting everyone in that half of the hall of his whereabouts. “Come sit with an old man!”

There isn’t much choice in the matter, but it’s no skin off his nose to shoot the breeze with the old timer. Basilio reaches out an arm and Brady clasps it.

“You’ve gotten stronger, eh?”

It’s downright humiliating to remember some of their first meetings in this time. Most encounters began with him traveling directly from the healing tent to muddy practice fields where Basilio took the time to drill axe skills into him. He’d already learned some colorful turns of phrase from the khan as a kid after spending one particularly dreary summer in Ferox. Dropping hints of that experience this time around had warmed Basilio up to him pretty damn quick. 

“Guess so.”

He’s still no fighter, but all that’s left to go is up when you start off as a noodle-armed staff wielder who needs to catch his breath from a relaxed walk up a hill. Basilio slides over some mead with a furtive explanation of its fraught travels over the border and through bandit infested mountains just for this event. He’s about as likely to down the full contents of his mug as Ma is to pick up a habit of petty larceny, but he does his best to look the part of someone who belongs at a table of Feroxi warriors. 

“We’ll be heading back within the week,” Basilio explains. “Plenty to do up north and can’t let Khan Flavia have all the fun!”

He’s got a hearty laugh that puts Brady at ease, that misplaced nostalgia once again softening the edges of so many interactions.

“Safe travels, old man.”

Their glasses clink as they make a toast to the road ahead.

“You’re always welcome, y’hear? Could use a few more healers on hand, especially during arena season. Never know when someone might lose an arm—or an eye!”

The table grows silent and he looks around before releasing the tension with a lively guffaw. Some of the Ylissean passersby eye them askance as the rest of the company erupts into hoots and howling laughter. He waits until they all calm before responding.

“I appreciate the offer,” Brady says with a polite nod—Basilio is still a khan even if he isn’t the current Feroxi in charge. “But Ma wants me ‘n Inigo to stick around to meet her pop.”

He’s put a lot of thought into the looming question of ‘where to next?’ already. Themis itself is an option, but he’s not sure he’s ready to go back. It’s one thing to see Ylisstol restored and another thing to go back _home_ when there’s not really a home to return to for any of them. It’s all but guaranteed he’ll be a leaky mess for that sight even if he’ll just be a visitor passing through. And as much as his mothers might protest, it’s high time him and Inigo let the two of them start their own lives together. 

He nurses his drink while Basilio regales their table with daring deeds done both in an official capacity as the khan and during his escapades as a sellsword. Despite being handy with an axe, mercenary work isn’t the path for him either though he wouldn’t be surprised to see some return to it. There’s a shared restlessness that’s begun to settle over so many of them from that doomed Ylisse even if no one wants to say it. The hope is there, but it’s untethered in a melancholy, directionless way.

They clasp arms again once Brady finds an opening to leave. When Basilio asks, he promises they’ll spar before he departs for Ferox (even if he would never refer to their one-sided exchanges as 'sparring' unprompted). The large oak doors are open, the light and sound of the festivities filtering into the passageway. As he turns for one last glance at the gathering, he nearly bumps into another partygoer.

“Hey there, Brady!” 

It’s one of the last voices he expects to hear near the exit of all places.

“Ah!” He clears his throat. “Um sorry about that. Heya, Cynthia.” 

“Heading out for the night?” she asks with a smile. If he didn’t know any better, he might suspect her of judging his early departure, but from what he can tell, she’s either on her way in or about to head out as well.

“Yeah, I think it’s about time to turn in for the night. Not the best uh conversationalist.”

He’s not really sure why he felt the need to add that last part. Maybe because the party is still in full swing and anyone else who has already left is either a toddler or elderly. She hums a sound that might be disagreement, but there’s a distracted quality to her movements. 

“I’m just getting back, but...”

He’s temporarily preoccupied as well when he spots his mothers walking with Lissa in between them. In time with a sinking sensation in his gut, the princess’s face beams when she spots the two of them. Brady bites back a groan when she waves before leaning towards Ma’s ear, their movement staggered as Maribelle cranes her neck in his direction. May lightning strike him dead before he ever asks Lissa for another favor. Spurred on by the nosy onlookers, a proposal slips past his lips before he has the chance to give it much thought.

“Wanna get out of here? Some fresh air sounds good.”

She nods, a grin splitting her face as she links their arms, her own arm angled upwards so he doesn’t have to lean down further. It’s small, but he notices. Just as he notices her dress as it rustles when she turns, the fabric in softer shades of blue than her knight uniform. Her hair is half down and arranged in delicate curls that give her a more serious mien than he’s used to, but the smile is hers as is the way she occasionally hums along with the music.

“Lead on!” she says in a singsong voice.

There’s a landing overlooking the gardens that is nearby, but he doesn’t care for the idea getting stuck out there. Instead they cross over into a long courtyard, the tall windows of the hall visible as the warm light from inside spills out over the stone. They both pause to watch, Cynthia finally breaking the silence.

“Mom wanted to leave early,” she starts, not quite sounding like herself. “I think it’s rough for her. She appreciates what everyone says and has done, but it’s tiring, y’know?” He waits for her to finish, watching as she twists her fingers in her hand. “Morgan’s with her. They’re reading before bed, but I don’t think I’m ready to sit around just yet.” 

“I’m sorry about all that. What happened with your ma.”

Cynthia shakes her head.

“No way! She did the truest hero thing anyone in the history of heroes could’ve done! And she’ll be back and we’ll have another party just like this one. I know it!”

“You’re right,” he says and maybe he’s going too far, but he doesn’t want to leave it at that. “But it’s alright to feel bad about it in the meantime, if you need to, yeah?” 

This is a painful climb they have all made over territory so hostile he aches to think of repeating it, no matter how temporary. He resists the urge to glance back through the windows to see if he can spot them. It’s irrational, but he knows why it happens, why he’d look for them on the battlefield when they were capable of taking care of themselves, risking his neck when it was downright foolish to get distracted. 

“Yeah,” she murmurs, leaning against him. 

They both look back to the spinning figures through the glass, the music muted, but still audible. 

“Hey, you wanna dance?” she asks, her grip on his arm tightening reflexively, but her tone is light again.

“Ya wanna go back?” he asks, apprehensive. 

“Mm-mm, right here. Just you and me! I know _you_ wouldn’t tell anyone if I tripped,” she says with a laugh. 

Before he can confirm, she takes both his hands in hers, guiding him so they face each other.

“Well, I uh, sure, if ya like.”

It’s not the most graceful response, but it doesn’t faze her. She hums along with the song again nodding with the beat before she tugs his hand, signaling him to lead. He takes a deep breath and leans into the melody.

And to his surprise…

He’s not that bad at it. 

Not perfect and he’s probably expending too much energy trying to not make mistakes, but maybe mother really had been able to teach him a thing or two. Cynthia isn’t as clumsy as she likes to imply either even if she swings her way into the song with more enthusiasm than accuracy and has a few moments where she loses her grip on her skirts. She still manages to keep to her feet and he wouldn’t let her fall anyhow. 

Maybe Ma was right about revenge even if she wasn’t talking about the end of the world. Maybe the best way to go on living was to flaunt everything they still have despite it all. He’s not the kind of person who can give inspiring speeches about challenging fate, but if a gal asking him to dance when the moment is right is enough to rub sand in all six of that miserable wyrm’s eyes, well, that’s just the cherry on top.

When the song ends, he bows to his partner just like he was taught and they continue to dance in the night air under a cloudy sky, the castle towers still standing and the dance hall glowing with the hopes of all inside. The ground has cleared before them, not for a second chance to do it over, but for something new.

**Author's Note:**

> I finally wrote the whole "tea + dancing family" (or performing arts family). This can be read alongside various other one shots in vaguely this order:  
> [Reunion (Maribelle/Olivia; Brady & Olivia)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104213/chapters/42797663)  
> [The Road Ahead (Maribelle/Olivia)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15113216)  
> [By Your Side (Maribelle/Olivia)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431096)  
> [The Grace of Waiting (Sumia/F!Robin)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124979)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Oh and belated thanks to Marilivia chat for brainstorming some things.


End file.
